“Later, Pops.”
Mickey felt better now he was clean and wearing fresh clothes, having settled on a black suit with a mandarin style jacket. It was a gift from Cold, not something he normally would have chosen for himself, but he wanted to look good.
It had absolutely nothing to do with seeing Roger.
His arm was still throbbing beneath the bandages and trying to keep it dry while he showered had been a pain in the ass. He didn’t like feeling weak, and he wanted to look as strong as possible when meeting up with the rest of the crew.
Nothing to do with Roger.
When he and Crybaby pulled up to Slick Rick’s, there were a surprising number of cars in the parking lot. Mickey recognized his beat up car, Jules’ El Camino, and the rest of the Gentlemen’s rides, but there were also a handful of shiny black sedans.
The Luchesi family was here.
“Fuckin’ great,” Crybaby mumbled. “What the fuck are they doing here?”
“I dunno.” Mickey’s trigger finger twitched. “You said Salvatore came by asking about Roger, right?”
“Yeah. Maybe he went crying to his mommy after Cold made him look like a bitch.”
“Let’s go see.”
Side by side, they marched through the front doors of Slick Rick’s. There were unfamiliar men in suits crowded around the bar, and Jules and Jerry were standing guard by the office door. Pym was making a drink behind the bar, and Duncan was biting his nails in the corner.
Mickey didn’t see the other Gentlemen, including Roger.
“Hey,” Jules grunted. “Welcome to the party, guys.”
Mickey tilted his head in greeting, but his eyes moved to the Luchesi men. There were six of them, two shots each, twelve bullets. He could probably take out three, maybe four, before needing to take cover if he had to. He stared each one down until they couldn’t meet his hateful sneer before taking his place next to Duncan.
“Cold is in there with Alistair, Cristian, and Cristian’s captain, Stefano,” Duncan mumbled. “They just showed up out of fuckin’ nowhere.”
“It’s fine,” Mickey said firmly. “We got this.”
“But why are they here?” Duncan whispered. He was twitching. “Do you think it’s because of—”
“Shut up,” Mickey snapped. “Calm down. Okay?”
“Okay.” Duncan kept chewing on his nails.
Mickey was content to wait here and continue to stare down the Luchesi goons, but then he heard something coming from the dance floor. He turned his head to glance over there, and he was instantly frozen in place.
It was Roger.
Roger was up in one of the cages, lazily spinning around the pole inside even though there was no music playing. He was fully dressed, and yet that didn’t detract from the sensuality of his performance.
He dropped down on his heels and rose back up, his spine curling gracefully as he took another spin. He clung to the pole, twirling around before seeming to realize he had an audience. He grinned right at Mickey and waved.
Mickey made a face, but he didn’t look away.
His heart was beating faster, and he loved how Roger was looking at him, those bright blue eyes tracking him from head to toe. Mickey was definitely pleased with the outfit he had chosen because he could not get enough of Roger’s hungry gaze.
Even with the ache in his arm, he felt good. He couldn’t explain the sense of peace coming over him, but it felt like everything was going to work out. They’d find the rat, get through whatever shit this was with Cristian, take over the damn city, and Mickey would fuck Roger, and…
Wait, what?
Mickey suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he reached for his guns.
“Oh, look! It’s the little Shadow,” a man’s voice mocked right in his ear. “Aren’t you just fuckin’ cute?”
